Money, Money, Money
by nurserachie2012
Summary: The team are called in by the UK authorities after the murder of 3 families from the same area of London are linked. Main pairing Rossi/Prentiss but there maybe others peppered in .
1. Chapter 1

Money, Money, Money.

"There is only one class in the community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor. The poor can think of nothing else."

Oscar Wilde

It was a typical early April morning and could be any day of the week at 06.00 am in any town or city in the UK, however, as it happens it was the capital city of London. A steady drizzle was coming down, soaking everything in its way, including the neglected laundry from forgetful homeowners, the occasional cat, stalking round buildings and trees looking for breakfast and the odd dog walker out early. The roads were waking up to the incessant tyres of the early risers making their way out to a day's work.

However, in the affluent area of Chelsea, West London, the scene was somewhat different. The homeowners of the upmarket street were awoken by the flashes of blue that penetrated even the thickest of curtains, and the wail and blare of sirens that were a common sound to anyone living in and around the city. The rush of activity was a strange and rare occurrence in the area, and so immediately the curtain twitchers were on guard, doing their level best to gleam some sort of knowledge of what was going on.

Front doors were being opened for superfluous and nonsensical reasons as residents attempted to look nonchalant but secretly greatly curious. Some people abandoned the idea of being unconcerned with the activities of the constabulary and openly stared and craned their necks trying to get a good view from various angles. Within 5 minutes of the various emergency services arriving at the scene, the street was full of onlookers at various stages of dressing themselves, some holding mugs of coffee or tea and the occasional slice of toast.

In the middle of the mayhem, the various emergency service workers were trying to do their respective jobs in very little light and with a growing crowd of both residents and the slowly arriving photographers from various newspapers. The police officers were trying to ensure the onlookers and photographers didn't approach the crime scene or interfere with the job of the other services. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that two paramedics exited the house with a stretcher trolley, upon which was a black body bag. This sight immediately sparked a reaction from both the onlookers and the clamouring photographers, all became eager to see more and whispers quickly spread down the street as to who the person could be.

The whispers continued until said paramedics emerged again from the house with a second trolley which was again occupied by a black bag. At that moment the flashes from the cameras became a lightning storm and the whispers from the crowd became gasps and shouts as several people went back into their houses, unable to watch the scene anymore. The crowd was still sizeable, however this did not last long as two more body bags were wheeled out of the house, but this time they were small, child sized ones. This proved too much for the homeowners in the crowd as they quickly dispersed, some holding a hand to their mouths in shock, tears glittering in their eyes at the memories they held of the family that had lived in the house.

In the middle of the fray, Sergeant Magnus Altair-Murphy of the Metropolitan Police surveyed the scene and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. He couldn't handle any more of these murders. Three family murders in as many months was a rarity even for a city the size and with the demographics of London, all very obviously committed by the same person or persons unknown. He was becoming desperate for some assistance from somewhere. He sighed heavily, turned his face to his left hand side and pulled the mobile phone from its attachment on his fluorescent vest and kevlar.

Sighing heavily, he pressed the buttons for the main menu and then the contacts list of the Samsung's menu, hunting through for the name he was after. Finding it he hesitated for a second and then with resolve he pressed the green call button and put the device up to his ear. The flashing blue from the police cars and ambulances were beginning to give him a headache so he moved away from the hustle and bustle to take the call in some resemblance of quiet. The steady ringing continued until he heard a very sleepy male voice on the other end answer. Magnus sighed and relief and said, "Dave its Magnus, I'm sorry to wake you at this hour, it must be what 1am with you? Anyway, you remember that case I asked you about a month ago, the family murders?" Hearing a muffled affirmative from the other end of the phone he continued, "Well we've found another this morning, family of 4 again, same MO. I think we may need you and your teams help my old friend."

...

3782 miles away in his home in Quantico, Virginia David Rossi was sitting on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hand, staring at the now blank screen. He couldn't quite believe that just 30 seconds ago he'd just got off the phone with a friend he hadn't seen for almost 7 years, a friend who was to all intents and purposes begging him to bring the BAU across the pond to the UK to assist him in his investigation. Putting his head in his hands he gave a large sigh and lit up the screen of his phone, looking in his own contacts list to find his best friends number, wishing he didn't have to wake him up at this hour but he thought the international call for help couldn't really wait. After all, a trip from the US to the UK was somewhat longer than their usual internal flights throughout the US.

Hearing the ringing on the other end of the phone he waited for a reply that sounded as sleepy as he probably had to Magnus. "Hotch, it's Dave. I'm sorry to wake you but I've just received a call from a friend wanting our help with a case he's got." The confusion in Aaron's voice was obvious as he asked why it required an early morning call. Dave sighed and said, "Well I thought we might need a quick getaway with this one. The call has come from an old friend of mine, Sergeant Altair-Murphy of the Metropolitan Police in London. He's requesting our help." The affirmation and quick instructions from Hotch to awake the rest of the team was quickly followed by the dial tone as he hung up quickly.

Rubbing his face briskly with his hands, Dave made the necessary calls and gave them a quick explanation of the reasons for the rude early awakening, and when he'd got assurances that they would all meet him and Hotch at the jet in 3 hours he himself got ready. Grabbing a quick shower, chucking his clothes on and then grabbing his go bag, David Rossi flew out of his home, into his SUV and began the trip to the air strip, all the while thinking about the possibilities this case could throw up for the team in an essentially foreign country.


	2. Chapter 2

I would like to thank my one reviewer. I do like to describe scenes in detail as I think visualising the scene is important for the reader.

Money, Money Money.

"A man is usually more careful of his money than he is of his principles."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

The pale blue colours of the early morning Virginia sky, a streak of orange and pink on the horizon may have been a sight enjoyed by many people that morning. However, as Dave surveyed the other faces of the team around him, all he could see was tiredness. Complete disinterest with the view out of the window, including some irritation thrown in for good measure was the main facial expression. Even Penelope Garcia, the shiny happy person herself didn't have her usual sparkle in the wake of lost sleep.

Dave looked across the table in front of him to the muscled man sitting opposite him. Morgan's head was in his hand and his eyes were beginning to droop, and Prentiss who sat next to him in the aisle seat was not much better. Dave was sure Reid was in fact asleep sat next to him, the drool on the side of his mouth removing all and JJ unbuckled their belts as the jet levelled out to cruising and moved to stand behind Prentiss and Morgan.

"Sorry for the early wakeup call guys, but with the international cry for help and the 5 hour time difference I thought it would be best to get moving ASAP," said Hotch. There was a chorus of 'It's ok's', although Morgan and Prentiss's replies were somewhat muffled by hands covering deep yawns. "Its 4:30am now, so it's 9:30am in the UK. The flight is going to be around 8 hours so I thought perhaps we could try to get some much needed sleep time before we land at Heathrow."

As soon as this statement was out of Hotch's mouth Reid, who apparently hadn't been as deeply asleep as Dave had thought, jumped up from his seat and launched himself onto the full length couch before anyone else had moved a muscle. "Wow, the Boy Genius's body can move as fast as his mind," said Morgan sniggering as he moved himself into a comfortable enough position to get some shut eye, as Reid promptly made figure gestures in his direction. Prentiss put a mock shocked look on her face and a hand to her heart, "Such obscene finger gestures, naughty boy. 187 point IQ and all he can do is a poor attempt at finger puppets!"

...

"Listen you egotistical idiot, you are obviously afflicted with the same illness that catches all men eventually, you think with your friggin pants not with what's in your head. Which by the way must be the size of a button mushroom given the history of your decision making prowess!"

The shout that greeted the team as they walked in to the Met Police's bustling Chelsea Police Station was enough to halt the group assembled all together. Surveying the interesting but somewhat humorous scene before them, the team could see a diminutive, but quite obviously fiery brunette Met Superintendent giving a severe dressing down to a constable who was at least a foot and a half taller than her. However, any eyes that were on the scene could practically see the taller man shrink under the gaze of the smaller in stature but larger in voice officer.

"Now listen to me boy, you know you fucked up, I don't need to say that again. However, you're a good cop, we all make mistakes but you need to allow your brain to intervene when it senses that what is about the come out of your mouth could cause the situation to flare up," said the brunette, not even attempting to speak in any flowery language. A reply was halted by a hand as the constable was obviously about to attempt to redeem himself. "What did I just say Carlton? I am sure that reply would have been interesting, but please allow your brain to filter your words." A nod followed and the young man, Constable Carlton as it would seem, quickly disappeared through a swing door to his left.

The brunette then turned, shook herself slightly and taking a deep breath, approached the group of FBI agents that were currently standing in her doorway. Walking towards Hotch and the team she stretched her hand out in greeting. "Agent Hotchner, I'm Superintendent Clara Rickards, it's nice to finally have you here. As soon as Sergeant Altair-Murphy mentioned Agent Rossi and your team's skills I knew we needed you here." Smiling slightly, Hotch shook the firm hand of the woman and exchanged a small greeting, introducing the rest of the team thereafter.

"Sergeant Altair-Murphy should be here soon, he's had to go out to the Coroner's office to get some results we needed...Ah, Magnus there you are," she said, looking behind the team to the main doors of the station. The assembled agents turned and watched what appeared to be Rossi's twin walk through the doors, a smirk on his face as he saw his double looking straight at him. The man they watched walk towards them in a met police uniform, Kevlar and fluorescent coat approached Rossi quickly. "Someone help me, I'm seeing double," said Morgan as the doppelganger shared a prolonged hug with their friend. A snigger went round the group as the twins separated and looked at the team with identical smirks.

Rossi enjoyed the looks on the faces of his friends and colleagues as they surveyed the shocked looks. "Guys, this is Magnus Altair-Murphy, my long time friend and scarily real doppelganger. When we first met 20 years ago we ourselves were awestruck with the similarity." You couldn't have put a hair between them, the similarity was scary. The same dark hair in the same style, the same eyes, facial structure and height meant they could have fooled anyone. The only real difference could be seen when you looked closely at Magnus. A thin scar from a bar fight in a local pub that was hidden slightly by the dark hair was the only discernible difference between the two. Until their mouths opened they could have been one in the same.


End file.
